Hidden Admiration
by skyspottedshadow
Summary: Ivan has never seen anyone move like she does; Amelia's feelings are mutual. Fem!America. RussAme. General stalker-ship.
1. Chapter 1

Hetalia is not mine. Duh.

* * *

He could remember vividly what it had been that caught his eye the first time he saw her. Ivan had been wandering through the woods, quietly enjoying the scenery and thinking over one particularly bothersome problem.

* * *

Natalia had been disturbingly persistent that day, clinging to his leg, plastic knife in hand, chanting her usual "Marry me, Brother, please please please!" Luckily, Katyusha had swung in and asked Natalia if she wanted to help her cut the salad for dinner and Natalia had grudgingly accepted. Ivan had seen his window of opportunity and rushed out to take a walk, leaving a hastily written note in his wake. Was it cowardly to be afraid of a ten-year-old?

Suddenly, something interrupted his thoughts. From the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of gold, sunlight woven into solidity, drawing his attention away from everything else. Ivan had pushed through the clingy vines, brushed past the reaching branches in pursuit of the source of this color, something that he knew he had not imagined, no matter how distracted he was. As he strode towards it, another color had flickered through the leaves, white, nearly matching eggshells or clouds or snow but not quite the same.

Right when he started getting frantic, right when the branches had started to feel endless is when he broke through into a meadow dotted with small cornflowers whose shade mirrored the sky precisely. This, however, is not what made him draw in a sharp breath and slide behind an oak just wide enough to hide him, scarf trailing behind reluctantly. What surprised him was the other occupant of the field, whom had not noticed his approach, despite his lack of silence.

The moment Ivan laid eyes on her, he knew it was her that he had seen, hidden behind the layers of wood and leaves. She wore the gold as hair, letting it catch the light as she moved about; the white was her dress, reaching down to her knees, but puffing out like a flower when she spun.

What enchanted him, though, was what she was doing. She was dancing. Looking at her from his little hiding place, Ivan wished he could find a prettier word for dancing so he could accurately describe it.

It was not quite like anything he'd ever seen, the way she twirled with an invisible partner and seamlessly raised her leg in a swift, unforgiving kick. How the arms, waved about gracefully would sometimes move forward in a punch a bit too quick to follow with the eyes then return to serene gliding.

He wondered what her unseen partner would be doing. Sidestepping her kicks and returning with a punch that would easily ducked under, perhaps. Maybe simply taking the punishment as the price to dance with someone so lovely and strong. Ivan thinks it would be worth it.

It takes Ivan three days of searching to find the field and two days of waiting to see his dancer girl again. That sixth day, as he watches her jump and seem to take longer than most to hit the ground, he wonders just when the dancer girl became his. In answer, his mind shows him a flash of gold that penetrated through both the forest and Ivan's thoughts.

* * *

Amelia just barely stopped from groaning as she slumped down in her uncomfortable plastic chair. Even though Mattie had told Amelia he couldn't come to the ice rink with her, she had come anyway. She just didn't feel like skating right now, not that she was any good at it.

Amelia could never understand how her brother felt so at home on the ice. Whenever she ventured onto the rink, she slid and slipped and ended up falling. What she preferred was grass beneath her feet and the sun on her back, and the rink's ice and artificial lights felt alien to her.

She just about to get up and go home when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye and turned, focusing all her attention on the rink. There was a man out there, seemingly not much older than her. He was just like the other people, casually skating around, only, you know, backwards.

As she looked he seamlessly turned into normal skating, only to transform right back into backwards skating in a smooth twist. Amelia continued looking, eyes alight with interest. It wasn't as much the technical difficulty of the act, (she was convinced Mattie could do just as good). But there was something about the ease the act was done with. His scarf beat loosely in the wind, adding another layer of grace to the scene. She couldn't really put her finger on it, why was his skating so different than everyone else's?

The man continued skating until he found a patch of ice clear of clumsy toddlers and equally awkward teenagers, and to Amelia's amazement started twirling. Not in the way you'd expect a normal skater to do it, slowly, wackily and with slight embarrassment, but with a speed and ease she'd never seen before in real life. He bent down gracefully, curling down into a ball and increasing even more in speed, until the edges started blurring and he eased up into a standing position, stretching his arms to the sky for a second before smoothly continuing.

Amelia found herself leaning against the chair in front of her, staring at the young man as he skated around the edge to gain speed, following his movements with her eyes. Without a warning, he jumped, spinning in the air once, twice, thrice before touching down, and for the first time she could see him struggling, just a bit, to keep his balance, hands flying out before steadying himself and straightening up. She strained her vision, and even from this distance, could see the anger clear as day on his face. She didn't really get why he was so upset. She hasn't called something beautiful for months, but that was the only word she could think of while she watching him.

* * *

Ivan has decided that he needs to confront the dancer girl before he loses his mind. His obsession with her is overwhelming enough that he has started seeing her where she isn't; flashes of sunshine hair and sapphire eyes keep distracting him when he skates.

* * *

Amelia is convinced that she is in serious danger of being a stalker if she doesn't talk to the purple-eyed boy soon. Unfortunately, every time she tries to go up to him, ask him about his name, maybe, or where the hell he learned to skate like that- no, she can't say that- her eternal confidence dries up. So, she has to sit down and pretend that she's texting someone when, in fact, her hands are shaking too much to use her phone.

* * *

In the end, they meet in the most mundane of ways.

Ivan has made a habit of lingering around the library, pulling out books on widely varying subjects and leafing through them thoughtfully, or seeing just how uncomfortable he can make the assistant librarians by staring at them (to his amusement, the little blonde boy would occasionally faint). So Ivan was slightly surprised when he overheard someone that did not sound like any of the regulars greeting one of the librarians, sounding almost unbearably cheerful while doing so.

* * *

Amelia, on the other hand, does not like the library at all. It is not, contrary to popular belief, because she doesn't ever read, her dislike of the library is due to the atmosphere nearly all of them carry. Whenever she enters a library, Amelia feels very small and very, very stupid. She is convinced that libraries are like that on purpose, just to make sure she doesn't go in and liven things up a bit.

Thus, it was with a great deal of reluctance that she went into the establishment to get a required book for english class.

* * *

Ivan feels no qualms about 'overhearing' what the new visitor needs help finding, as she explains it to the librarian. If she doesn't want to be spied o- listened to, she should speak a bit more quietly, even if her enthusiasm is a bit refreshing.

He goes back to his book detailing the Chinese Dynasties and tries to concentrate.

* * *

Finding the book for class is easier than expected and Amelia is feeling slightly jovial as she absentmindedly examines the spines of the books she's trotting past. She runs her fingers along a line of volumes on Chinese history, skipping over an empty space in the middle of the stack and suddenly she slams into something.

Amelia is rubbing her forehead and speculating just how a wall got in the middle of the hallway when she realized that the wall swore faintly when she bumped into it. Walls don't swear, right? Walls don't talk...right?

She turns to the not-wall and is face-to-face with a scarf that is an eerily familiar shade of pink. Amelia is certain she can feel her heart stutter in her chest as she stares at the article of clothing that she can recognize in an instant, has seen countless times trailing after the person staring down at her with amethyst eyes.

* * *

When the unknown visitor collides with Ivan, he is reasonably sure that his heart did not stutter, but stop and nearly fall out of his chest when he looked down, cursing quietly. For a person that he is positive is at least partially composed of sunshine, she felt very solid against his chest.

Suddenly, his hours of planning on what to say, how to act when he finally introduced himself to the dancer girl have evaporated, turned into dust and blown away. She seems to be having a similiar problem, she has been staring at his scarf as if he is wearing a live boa constrictor while Ivan fumbles around in his head.

* * *

To her untold surprise, it is Amelia who finally breaks the silence with a very small "Sorry." The purple-eyed man looks a little less dumbstruck and responds with an accented "It is okay." For a half of a half of a second he has the look she imagines would fit someone about to dive off a cliff, but he gives a small smile and puts out a hand "I'm Ivan."

Amelia is pondering the origin of the man's accent (European?) and nearly misses the extended hand. She does spot it, though, and breaks into a smile so effortless that Ivan wants to catch and frame it as she takes his hand. "Nice to meet you, Ivan." She hesitates at his name and looks up at him, nose scrunched slightly as she draw back her hand, "Did I pronounce your name right?"

"Nearly. You have to draw out the beggining a bit more. Eeeevan." He stretched out the 'e' sound, teeth glinting in the fluorescent lighting.

"Um...Eeevan?" She grins as she enunciates his name, looking pleased when he gives a quick nod in response. "My name's Amelia." She emphasizes the 'e' and flushes slightly when she hears herself.

She can feel the awkwardness in the air and gets slightly frantic. She needs to restart. She'll come to the library every day until she sees him again, but right now she has to go. "So, Ivan, it was nice meeting you. I have to go, though. See you soon?"

* * *

Feeling stiff, Ivan nods agreement and waves slightly as she leaves. She has to come to the library again, right? He will get another try. Fears assuaged, he smiles slightly. Amelia. What a lovely name. He says it aloud and revels in the way it rolls off his tongue. He gets to speak to her again. Ivan looks so happy that the librarian wonders if she should check for bodies in between the bookcases.


	2. Chapter 2

Hetalia is not mine. Duh

* * *

Amelia feels like dancing as she runs to the library. Maybe it's the perfect color of the sky, a lovely robin's egg blue; maybe it's the light playful breeze that keeps pace with her and ruffles her short blonde hair, or maybe it's the fact she's got a chance of winning a conversation with one of the most interesting strangers she's ever met. _No, not a stranger_, she amends, _his name is Ivan. _

Ivan. She's actually never met an Ivan before. Amelia is glad of that; she has the slightly shallow habit of associating names with the people they belong to and she wouldn't want such a nice name to be tainted by some other person before she even got to know the guy.

She had nearly, nearly asked her mother what part of the world the name Ivan was from, but that would have led to questions and discussions and lectures and in the end her secret would be ruined. Amelia had resolved to keep the boy with the purple eyes and flawless grace private; Mom has a habit of dismissing and scorning and **insulting **things Amelia takes an interest in, from friends to hobbies. She thinks that if Mom started mocking the idea of a male ice-skating, she might finally lose her temper.

Amelia curses almost inaudibly and presses her hands on her temples. Great. Now she's all worked up. She focuses on the sunshine pressing against her skin and the snow white clouds, trying to salvage her good mood.

* * *

Ivan is humming slightly, keeping the beat in time with his long strides. He doesn't really know what song it is, but the beat is cheerful and matches his mood precisely. If he is lucky he will see his dancer girl (he doesn't feel as if he has earned calling her by name yet) again, and then... He can't think of what happens then. Perhaps, he can actually win her over. But, if she is not at the library, then he will simply have to be patient and wait for her return, the same way he waits at that same meadow every Saturday. As they say, good things come to those who wait, and Ivan is a master at waiting.

* * *

Getting distracted while walking is an awful habit, Amelia has resolved. The fact that she didn't notice two-thirds of the so-called 'Bad Touch Trio' (Amelia preferred calling them 'The Rapist Squad') sneaking up on her is more proof than she needed, thank you very much.

She is innocently walking past a local Italian restaurant when someone, she thinks it's Francis (he's the only one she knows who does that), greets her with a pinch to the butt and chuckles when she swings behind her and attempts to decapitate him. Yep, definitely Francis.

She whips around and, sure enough, there are Francis and Gilbert, laughing like morons. At her glare, they seem a bit less jovial, and then Francis gives a sly grin, "Amelia, _cherie,_need to relax and let me greet you properly." Amelia instinctively darts away from his hands when he reaches for her with a practiced rapidity; she knows from experience that allowing any one of the bad touch trio to 'greet' you is always mind scarring.

Gilbert laughs again, raucous and loud, at her reaction. "Geez, Amelia, never thought you'd be scared of Francis. Not very awesome of you." Amelia feels her temper flare at the small barb. It's not normally something that would bother her, but thoughts of her mother have left her feeling agitated and unsettled and the Bad Touch Trio is known for bad timing.

"Well, it's not very awesome of you to be perverted bastard, but I don't see you doing anything about it." Gilbert's eyes flash at her retort and she knows that she has initiated war.

* * *

Francis silently cringes at the expression on Amelia's face, the scrunch of her eyebrows that spells danger; it's really too bad he and Gilbert had decided to 'greet' (bother) her during one of her rare bad moods. Last time he was unwise enough to do that, she attempted to break his lovely nose! He subtly tugs on Gilbert's sleeve; they really should get going before this escalates, but his friend scowls and crosses his arms. Oh my.

"Nice for a stupid bitch like you to call me a bastard. I'm surprised you even know what it means." Ouch. Francis frowns at Gilbert, that was really unnecessarily harsh. When he turns to Amelia, her face had reddened slightly in anger and she is breathing hard. This is getting far too serious for his liking but he has the sinking feeling that even if he stepped between the two he could only end up as collateral damage for either side.

The Frenchman sighs and steps back, currently invisible to both of the hot headed teens, he feels bad just watching but, alas, what can he do? As he leans away from the budding brawl, he feels his back brush something and recoils at the fleeting chill it brings.

* * *

It's amazing that, even though he's only heard her voice once, he could tell it was her speaking from a few blocks away. Ivan could also hear that she was angry and upset, her tone thicker and more emphatic than he remembered it. That was probably what transformed his brisk walk into a jogging run. His dancer girl could be in trouble, she could be **hurt**.

He knew, in the back of his mind where rationality hides when he's stressed, that she can win a fight, he's seen it with his own eyes how strong she is. Still, reality paled in comparison next to the image of Amelia in pain and the bleak rage that followed.

* * *

Francis swings around and is immediately greeted with the same frigidity, although now it is ice-water that penetrates his skin and burrows to his bones rather than an air-conditioner like cold. There is a young man standing there, about his age, and very tall. The man is not looking at Francis, though, his oddly colored eyes are fastened on Amelia and Gilbert, appearing angry and somewhat ...what is that? ...He almost seems possessive.

Francis watches with a mixture of awe and shock as the young man ghosts over to the squabbling pair, footsteps eerily inaudible, a gentle smile that freezes him to the marrow fixed on his face. Gilbert pauses mid-sentence when he notices the hulking figure looming up behind Amelia.

* * *

Amelia's eyes narrow at Gilbert when he goes silent; has the stupid son-of-a-bitch finally realized she's not in the mood for this? Wait... there's something off. She looks closer and sees that Gilbert's scarlet eyes are no longer focused on her but, instead, a point somewhere behind her. Judging by the look on his face, if it was possible his pale cheeks would have been a shade lighter than usual.

She feels a surge of panic at the realization of that whatever is scaring Gilbert so much is **right behind her**. Eyes wide, pupils dilated, she stiffens and slowly turns around. And looks up. Distantly, in the back of her mind, is the distinctive feeling of déjà vu as she recognizes the pale skin and light blonde hair. What is he doing here?

* * *

Francis is ready to relegate this whole predicament as completely beyond him when the American turns around and faces the tall boy, looking very surprised. "Ivan?" The young man, apparently named Ivan, doesn't pay attention to her, still giving Gilbert the most ghastly stare Francis has seen for a long time.

Francis's confusion is fading fast, the new information in his mind settling into a pattern. Amelia's distraction when she was walking in the street, the protective set of the man's face and the icy glare at his albino friend. Especially the way Amelia was blushing almost imperceptibly.

Suddenly, everything snaps into one of his favorite scenarios. Francis feels a smile involuntarily pulling at his lips, and the calm feeling of being in one's sphere of experience. Choosing to completely disregard the tense atmosphere, he nearly dances over to Gilbert and tugs at his arm with more force than before.

"Come on, Gilbert, it is time to make our exit." Gilbert looks frightened by the stranger, very, but he still doesn't want to hurt his pride by running away, and turns to argue with Francis. However, when he meets Francis's eyes, he sees a very familiar twinkle in them; one that usually appears when he is speaking of 'amour'. The German knows from experience that disagreeing with Francis when he is playing matchmaker is not within his best interests. So, he lets himself be dragged away, but not before swearing revenge at Amelia and her newfound bodyguard.

To Gilbert's utmost indignation, the blonde American and the oversize man completely ignore his threats.


End file.
